The Ghosts of Flat 221B
by Decisions Are Hard
Summary: Lestrade's fully furnished and inexpensive new flat in central London is haunted by ghosts who firmly insist that they aren't ghosts. He's not sure if he believes them or if he's having a breakdown and hallucinating everything. Either way he's got two new flat mates he wishes would just give up the ghost and leave him and his normal life alone.
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

Of all the things Gregory Lestrade expected to be wrong with his new flat finding two ghosts haunting it was not anywhere on the list of potential problems. He could deal with an infestation, he could deal with the neighbors being involved with illegal activities (he could just have them arrested), he could deal with bad plumbing, he could deal with just about anything but ghosts. But here he was sipping tea on his couch in his pajamas watching two partially transparent glowing men argue.

He wasn't sure how exactly it happened he just knew that he got up to get a drink and suddenly he was face to face with a dark haired man in a dramatic coat. Things went hazy around then because the next thing he knew he was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea in his hands and an orange shock blanket draped over his shoulders. He looked down at the tea noting that it was very hot and the slight pain from his fingers told him he was not dreaming. The two chairs that occupied the living room now had two transparent men glaring at each other in them. In the green modern chair sat the one that he'd run into, in the old and comfortable looking red chair was a short transparent man with light hair. They were hard to make out as looking at them, well the closest comparison he had was when he tried on his great aunt Eleanor's glasses and discovered that she had horrible vision.

"Nice of you to join us Lestrade." The dark haired one drawled his voice deep for someone so skinny.

"You know my name?" He asked blankly his lips beginning to work even before his brain could.

"Yeah Mrs. Hudson told us." The light haired one said in a voice that was not deep or menacing enough to belong to the stereotypic ghost. "I'm John and that's Sherlock." John said gesturing from himself to the ghost in the other chair.

"Did Mrs. Hudson make us tea?" Lestrade asked sounding strangely absent as he tried not to focus on the fact that he was probably having a psychotic break. "She makes tea for me all the time."

"No she doesn't." Sherlock snapped sulking in his seat. "You've been drinking John's tea."

"So I've been drinking ghost tea?" Lestrade asked his face a shade of white that would have looked more at home on the ghosts faces.

"No you've been drinking John's tea. There are no such things as ghosts." Sherlock snapped and Lestrade expected the whole haunted thing to take off and go crazy, but nothing happened. The lights didn't flicker and nothing shook but his hands, no flashes of light or anything. The only haunted thing that was happening was the mostly transparent man glaring at him from his seat on the green chair.

It seemed that the absence of shaking furniture and flickering lights gave him courage because he replied just as snappily. "If it looks like a ghost and acts like a ghost it's a ghost, now why are you two haunting my flat?"

"We're not haunting anything! It was our flat first, in fact it still is we're still paying the rent." Sherlock said as he sulked his arms crossed as he slouched in the chair.

"Technically Mycroft is." John piped up from his seat in the other chair and Lestrade turned to see the less aggressive ghost sipping his tea.

"And he's right we're not ghosts but someone decided to touch a dangerous machine he found on the other side of a door clearly marked do not enter. We passed out and when we woke up we were like this." John swept his arm out. "It's actually not that bad though there are a few things I miss about being normal."

"It was for the case!" Sherlock shouted, looking like a child throwing a tantrum.

Lestrade just barely managed to resist dragging his palm down his face and looked between the two of them. "Are you two the reason I can't replace any of the furniture or get rid of that weird cow head?"

"Yeah. We're quite attached to the way the place looks. Besides if this happened to you would you want some stranger going around throwing out all of your stuff?" John said calm as could be. "I'm surprised though most people complain about the skull before they mention the cow." He gestured to the cow skull wearing headphones on the wall.

"No I suppose not." Greg said feeling like Rod Sterling was going to walk out at any second and welcome him into his stay in the Twilight Zone. "I'm not moving out this is all I can afford right now so if you're planning on scaring me off it's not going to work."

Sherlock scowled at him, at least he thought he scowled it was hard to tell with them. "If I wanted you gone you'd be gone already. You bring your work home with you and it is a welcome distraction to have something to do."

"Sherlock's a detective. He can help you with your cases." John piped up. "It will give him something to do other than complain."

Greg decided to ignore that for the moment, not sure if he wanted to deal with the repercussions of telling the angrier ghost no. "So how does this work?"

"There are theories but without any hard evidence a definite conclusion is hard to come to." Sherlock began but he was interrupted by John.

"I think he means how do two..." John hesitated for a moment looking like he had to physically force the word to form. "Ghosts and one human share a two bedroom flat."

"Yeah am I taking someone's bed or were you two together when you were still alive?" Greg said gesturing between the two.

"No." John spat waving his hands in the universal signal for no way in hell. "Sherlock and I were never a couple no matter what Mrs. Hudson says."

"You're sleeping in my room. You can keep it I prefer the couch." Sherlock shrugged sounding unconcerned.

"Okay good to know." Greg said as he looked between the two of them. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

"Throw out the fridge, the microwave, the stove any anything else you cook on or with. Just trust me on that." John said seriously.

"So I have to furnish the flat that I got because it came fully furnished because the ghost that's haunting my flat told me to?" Greg snapped.

"No just the kitchen and unless you want nightmares it's better not to ask why." John said as he took another sip of his tea.

"I'm going to bed." Greg said flatly as he stood letting the blanket fall from his shoulders as he walked into his room and locked the door. He got into the bed not even bothering to move the covers and stared at the ceiling wondering if he was going to wake up and find that this was all some nightmare from having one too many cups of the stations coffee.

_This wasn't in the Under Construction portion of my profile I was just bored._


	2. Chapter 2

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

The next day there was no sign of the two _ghosts_ that had invaded his flat last night. There was no orange blanket on the floor, no dirty teacups left out, and no transparent glowing men to be seen. He was prepared to dismiss it all as a dream just his mind running away with him after the stress of the move, the divorce, and his new job. He'd even begun to forget what happened until he was sent out with a team to investigate a potential homicide. He'd arrived on the scene to see some poor bloke lying face down in a pile of rubbish. He put on the blue suit and booties he was forced to wear and went to oversee the scene with Detective Inspector Ormond. He looked at the body, listened and watched as the forensic techs did their work. He listened as they called out the cause of death. "Five stab wounds to the chest, the man died of asphyxiation, chocked on his own blood." But when he went to talk to Anderson things began to get strange.

He hadn't even gotten a word out when it started. At first it was just a tingle, a slight buzz of static that made the hair on his arms stand up straight. Then the buzz traveled to his ears and he heard static, like snow from the old television he'd never gotten around to throwing out. The static buzzed in his ears getting louder and louder and he got more and more annoyed with it. He pressed his fingers to his temples the static making a migraine build up as the light in the alley which was quite dim suddenly became too intense. He took a step back mumbling an apology when the static cut off just long enough for him to hear the word 'buttons' before it started up again.

"You alright Lestrade?" Anderson backed away from the paling man not wanting to be in the line of fire if his new coworker got sick and threw up whatever it was that he'd eaten earlier today.

"Fine." Lestrade said sounding like a boxer that had been given a blow to the stomach from an opponent twice his size.

The buzz was getting worse and better at the same time. It would stop every few seconds to get out a syllable or two, even a word at times. So far he'd heard. "Buttons, murder, obvious, Anderson, Idiot, head, affair, are, listening, was, blind, daft, go, her, late, wife." None of it made any sense and he had the feeling that if it didn't stop soon he'd be on the floor unconscious.

Anderson pulled him away from the body leading him to where he could lose his lunch without disturbing the evidence. He put his hands on his knees struggling to hold himself up as the assault on his senses continued. The words were becoming cleared but he was beyond the point of caring. He was in too much pain to question his sanity or wonder just what he'd done to deserve this. When as sudden as it had started the buzzing was gone. He collapsed against the brick wall of the alley in relief as the buzzing stopped and he could hear Sally asking him if he was okay.

"Is it a migraine?" He heard her whisper. "I have some medicine if it is."

"No I think it's over now." He said pressing the heel of his head to his head as the pain leached out of him like air through a holey balloon. "Thank you though."

He sat there the chill from the street seeping into his jeans. He was being watched and he was embarrassed and a bit annoyed that almost everyone was looking at him like he was pitiful. He stood angrily the anger taking enough edge off the pain for him to stand and walk without falling. He made his way back to the squad car to sit down for a moment on a surface that was just slightly softer than the asphalt. His skin still felt like he'd worn wool socks on a thick carpet and stood next to a metal pole, but he had the feeling that given time it would stop.

He pulled out his notebook from his jacket pocket ready to jot down some notes so the day wouldn't be a total loss when he saw writing that wasn't his own in the journal. He read through it his face getting paler and paler with each word. "The button on the ground next to the body does not belong to the victim. The buttons may be the same size but the colour doesn't even match. The victims are obviously darker. This is a murder it couldn't be any more obvious. Someone make Anderson shut up he's an idiot nothing more in his head than his affair with Sally. Lestrade can't you see it? Are you even listening to me? The man that was murdered the killer was his mistress. Now go and you might be able to catch her before it's too late. Revenge on the husband wasn't enough. She's going after the wife."

He closed his journal and put it away in his pocket. This was way too strange for him and he was beginning to remember last night when he dreamt that his apartment was haunted. His stomach churned as without his consent a question rooted if self in his brain and began to overtake his thoughts until it was the only thing on his mind and it began breeding more and more questions. What if it wasn't just a dream and he really was being haunted by ghosts. Ghosts that it seemed were no longer content to stay in his flat and now sought him out at crime scenes to leave him gibberish about who murdered the victim. Did ghosts talk to each other about how they died? Is that how one of them, he was guessing the tall one the words were too deep for the small one he remembered, knew it was the mistress? Would he be haunted by another ghost if he didn't stop the impending murder of the wife? Was his ex-wife right that his endless hours working were beginning to erode his sanity?

He bit down on the questions. He'd deal with everything later when he felt less like he was going to lose his mind or his lunch whichever came first. He stood and made his way back to DI Ormond hoping that the man would humor him for the sake of his sanity. He cleared his throat and the grey haired perpetually angry looking man leveled him with a look that was surprisingly less harsh than he usually received.

"Has someone been sent to inform his family?" He asked hoping that he sounded strong and not weak like he felt he was.

"We'll send someone who isn't on scene to inform them." Ormond said before he turned back to watch the techs.

"Something seems off about the buttons." Lestrade said somehow unable to stop himself from saying something that he thought would help.

"We'll see to it later Lestrade now you should go somewhere where you won't contaminate the scene." Ormond said cutting off anything else Lestrade might have had to say.

Lestrade nodded and walked away just wanting to collapse in his bed and wake up to find that he was dreaming, but somehow he didn't think he'd get that luxury again.

_If you ask questions I will try my best to answer them and I don't mind getting questions so feel free to ask away. Sherlock and John are more along the line of mutants than ghosts. They have problems interacting with things depending on the area that they are in and the people they are around. Maybe they will maybe they won't get their bodies back only time will tell and yes Lestrade is new to London. Thank yous to everyone, who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited._


	3. Chapter 3

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

Greg considered himself a reasonable man and for the most part he was, but holding his recently haunted journal he was beginning to feel anything resembling reason being torn away from him. He could pass what happened last night as a dream brought on by late nights and too much junk food. But the notebook was proof physical solid evidence that he was not losing his mind and that right now he was being haunted by not one but two ghosts. It was impossible to deny it now Lestrade thought as he made his way through the crowded streets. The encounter earlier with the buzzing disembodied voice, the writing in his journal, and the migraine were enough to make him a believer. He was living in a haunted flat with two ghosts who were now following him onto crime scenes. It was all he could do not to break out in hysterics on the street. It was official his life was an episode of the Twilight Zone!

Seeing no reason to return to the haunted flat yet he walked into a pub and ordered the cheapest thing they had. Drowning one's problems in cheap beer was a bad solution but as the Ghostbusters were fictional it seemed to be the only solution left to him. He couldn't leave Baker Street. He could barely afford living there as it was and there was nothing else he could afford on his budget. Besides as strange as his flat was he liked it, loved it even. He liked that it was filled with an eclectic assortment of junk and oddities that made it look like the kind of home a modern day mad scientist would own. If they remade Frankenstein again he could think of no better place to film it than 221B Baker Street. The only real problem he had with it was that it was already occupied and living in a haunted house never turned out well for the living.

His beer was set in front of it and he took a sip wincing at the taste. He contemplated eating some of the cheap pub food but set the menu down after a casual glance over its contents. No nothing was too appealing at the moment. He took another sip hoping that somehow it would taste better after the second sip but the beer continued to taste so bland and flavorless that he suspected it was being watered down. He was tempted to just leave when a woman sat in the stool across from him and he had to admit that she might just have been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She was also entirely out of place in the worn down pub. She was dressed for business and he had no doubt that whatever she did she made more in one day than he made a month.

"Gregory Lestrade current address 221B Baker Street." The woman said coolly and Greg felt something like ice water collect in his gut. "My employer wishes to have a word with you."

He gripped his glass tighter partially from the shock of a stranger knowing who he was and partially because whatever happened to him earlier was happening again. The hair on his arms and neck stood at attention as the buzzing noise and sensation flooded his veins and settled in his ears. It was better than the last time, it almost felt like the static and words were not as insistent as they were at the crime scene. It still left him with a headache but nothing like the migraine that made him think his brain was about to liquefy he'd experienced the first time. Sounds and eventually words broke through the buzz of static leaving behind a much shorter message than last time. "Go." "Safe." He pulled out his journal and found the new message under the old one in entirely different handwriting. "You should go, it's safe."

What they could do to him while just communicating was horrible and he'd hate to see what would happen if he actually provoked them to true violence. So he decided to go along with it, no need to make the ghosts angry. He stood and let the woman lead him out of the pub after leaving the money for his drink on the bar. She stopped in front of the open door of a big black car gestured for him to get into it. Ignoring every instinct saying that this was a bad idea he slid into the car. His first thought once the door was closed was that this was perhaps the most expensive car he'd ever had the pleasure of sitting in. Everything seemed to lean toward luxury and if he was going to his death at least he was comfortable.

He looked at her a couple of times and wondered what the hell he was doing. He was just following the word of a ghost; if he kept this up he might become a ghost. He had no idea who her employer was or why they wanted to talk to him and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. Then again he might still be back at the pub sipping his drink blandly as he lost his marbles. He pressed his forehead with a hand trying to sooth away the growing headache.

They pulled to a stop at a building that looked run down nonetheless Lestrade diligently followed Anthea through the front door. Whatever he'd been expecting it wasn't this. The building on the inside looked brand new and very posh everything reeking of money. The only thing that was dingy or unappealing was the outside. He looked around slowly taking in the strange atmosphere of this secret luxury house as Anthea led him to a large oak door. She opened it and stood aside to let him in. He walked into the room taking note of the roaring fireplace, the large oak desk, and the leather chair that was facing a wall entirely covered in books, specifically law books. It was the only chair in the room and Lestrade got the feeling he should stand in front of the desk. Figuring he'd gone this far following the word of a ghost he did.

The chair turned around and a man with a bland politicians face glared out at him with eyes cold as ice as he looked at him with an expression that was only barely above disdain. "Sergeant Gregory Lestrade."

Greg frowned. "Have we met before?"

"No, but as you and I will be seeing a lot of each other I felt it prudent to make myself known to you." The man said sounding pompous and bored.

Greg didn't see how he could have anything to do with this man unless he was some sort of criminal looking to have a policeman in his pocket. "Who are you?"

"Mycroft Holmes. You've recently moved in with my brother Sherlock and his flat mate Dr. Watson." The man's _I am better than you_ tone continued.

"The ghosts?" Greg asked skepticism practically leaping off of him.

The man sighed as though he'd expected him to say something stupid and he'd just proved him right. "Yes if you wish to refer to them with that banal term. I have an offer for you one that should prove to be mutually beneficial."

Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest. "And that would be?"

"I need you to stay at 221B Baker Street." Mycroft said in a way that was somehow bland and overdramatic. "I'm in need of someone to keep my brother out of trouble. He is in dire need of an outlet for his energy and intelligence and he is fascinated by mystery. Allow Sherlock and Dr. Watson to accompany you to work and not only will I reward you handsomely I can promise you that a promotion will not be far off."

"How can you promise that?" Lestrade said suspicion turning the offer sour.

Mycroft laughed in a way that sounded like he was mocking him. "With Sherlock Holmes consulting for you I won't need to lift a finger."

_Thank yous to everyone, who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. Hijacking Lestrade's life is a given but will they be able to fix themselves? As for the headache issue that will be addressed in the next chapter._


	4. Chapter 4

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

After a long pause Mycroft continued, sounding more smug than any person had the right to be. "Isn't that right brother?"

Lestrade laughed unable to keep the bitter tinge out of it. He was ready to tell Mycroft in detail exactly what he thought of the man's offer, but before his retort could even begin to form he lost his focus as the space in front of him blurred. No blurred wasn't the right word for it, shifted out of place like light refracted by water was better. It was almost like someone had put an invisible man shaped tank of water in the middle of the room. He narrowed his eyes as shades of black and blue seeped into the refracted air in front of him and in less than two breaths the shadowy form of Sherlock Holmes took shape. Lestrade looked at the ghost that hadn't been there a second ago the blood draining out of his face. The translucent man seemed to be sneering at the other man, but as looking at his face was dizzying he wasn't certain.

"You wouldn't lift a finger if your life depended on it." The ghost snapped thankfully without the painful static that had accompanied him the last time one of them had spoken to Greg.

Mycroft sighed dramatically but otherwise ignored the irritable ghost. "As you can see Gregory Sherlock is able to remain hidden when he wishes and as you are now aware he is able to speak without being heard by anyone other than the person he is speaking to. You'll be able to catch everything he says without the written evidence eventually, but I'm certain by then you will be quite sick of it."

"I seem to remember you literally being sick Mycroft." The ghost said and Lestrade found it easier to believe the two were brothers as they claimed to be. Only brothers and very close friends could sound so petty at that age and mean it and there was no way that these two were friends.

Greg pressed his fingers into his temples some part of him hoping that if he rubbed them hard enough would he wake up from this strange dream. He was beginning to think he was never going to wake up or go back to his normal life. "Can I just get a lift home? This is all well and good, but I've just discovered that I live in a haunted flat and I already have enough problems without dealing with this."

"Certainly." Mycroft said with a droll tone that made the bad feeling Greg already had about the situation grow. Mycroft smiled at him and that bad feeling grew into something that felt like ice water in his chest. "We will be seeing each other again soon I should think, if you have any other questions that my brother and John will not answer."

Greg closed his eyes. Was it really worth it? Was getting away from his ex-wife worth dealing with ghosts and shadowy government types? He took a deep breath and put on a self-depreciating smile. "Thanks but I think I'll just be on my way. I've been through enough in my life and I don't want any more trouble. I'll be back to pick up my stuff from the flat later. I won't tell anyone about you or your brother or the haunted flat."

Mycroft gave a strange parody of a sigh and Lestrade's fingers clenched and unclenched as his legs began to tingle with the want to move. "I was hoping that it would not come to this Gregory but as I'm sure you are aware I can't just let you walk out. Sherlock stop him."

The ghost turned to face him a ripple of light moving over him as he walked toward the police officer. Lestrade froze in place before his brain kicked back into action and he ran through the posh halls like death itself was nipping at his heels. He briefly thought why am I even running he can't touch anything a ghost? But that was quickly shoved to the back of his head as he focused on the more important things like putting as much distance between him and the horror movie waiting to happen as possible. He managed to get to an exit his brain registering the bright red of the glowing sigh before a blur of black stopped in front of him. He stopped nearly colliding with the transparent man who had suddenly appeared in front of him.

"No go ahead and run this has been the least boring thing to happen since the incident that left me like this." Sherlock said his voice sharp with sarcasm as his hand swept up and down his form.

"I'm not going back. You can't make me stay there." Lestrade spat between hollow breaths of gasped in air. He winced both from the situation and from looking directly at the glowing man. He'd grown a bit clearer and his face was much more distinct now than it had been. He got the impression that he had blue eyes and sharp features which was more than the blob he'd remembered from the first night.

"I think you'll find that _we_ can." The ghost said emphasizing the word we and crossing his arms over his chest. "Now are you done running or would you like to continue our chase?"

Lestrade turned on his heel and took off down the hall. He didn't look behind him. He didn't slow down even as he crashed into two different people. He ran until he reached a dead end and crashed into the locked door at the end of it. He rattled the handle and cursed as it refused to budge. He turned to run back down the hall when the ghost reappeared in front of him, much faster than he had in the office.

Lestrade held himself up his hands resting on his knees as he heaved in air. He spoke to himself the sound of his own voice drowning out the pounding of his heart in his ears. "I don't think I can run any further. This place is a maze."

"No I think you are done for now." Sherlock sniffed haughtily as he stood in front of Lestrade his body glowing and dimming in a steady rhythm. Lestrade got the feeling that meant he was breathing heavily too. The ghost seemed to smirk and before Lestrade could so much as blink the ghost put his hand through his head. He felt like his brain had been frozen and electrocuted simultaneously and the world faded to black between heartbeats.

Sherlock watched and felt as Lestrade crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He waved his hand and flexed his fingers to get rid of the uncomfortable warm pin prickles reaching into someone's body always caused. It was a useful trick, one he'd used to annoy Mycroft to no end. He checked to see that Lestrade was still breathing and once he was certain he hadn't permanently damaged the man he went to fetch his brother.

_Thank yous to everyone, who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. It's not that they can't manifest outside of the flat it's that they can't reveal themselves to people they don't know. If no one was around they'd much rather appear as they can communicate easier. It's more mental he sees his writing how he pictures it, and he pictures it much neater than it really is. No but they can make people pass out and makes their limbs fall asleep._


	5. Chapter 5

_I do not own this at all, now that that's out of the way please enjoy the story._

Greg came to with a monster of a headache and a rolling in his stomach that forced a groan out of his chest. He slowly opened eyes that felt like they were being squeezed out of his skull. He leaned over the bed taking in the bucket that had been left there for his nausea. He felt like he'd been wrung out like a washcloth and beaten like a rug. Nothing at the moment felt right, as besides the headache and the nausea he felt as though his entire body felt like his arms did after he slept on them. There was a glass of water on the table by his bed and he took a sip wincing as the sudden chill aggravated his head even as it soothed over the soreness in his throat. There was a package of painkillers beside the water and he popped two of the pills in his mouth before washing them down with another drink of water.

He sat up feeling a bit better now that he'd had something to drink and he knew that the painkillers would kick in soon. He stood getting up to take a shower where hopefully the hot water would soothe the pain. His legs had that strange numbness that made walking difficult enough to make him wonder if a shower would be worth the effort. He somehow managed to make it to the bathroom without falling on his face and with his legs wobbling the way they were he decided on a bath. After he'd washed himself off he found that though his legs felt weird he could walk on them now.

He made his way out into the front room fully dressed and opened his laptop hoping to find listings for an available ghost free flat. He only got fifteen minutes into the search when his computer crashed and he gave up on the idea. There was nothing he could do at the moment so he settled down in one of the chairs and wondered if using the haunted kitchen that even the ghosts seemed disturbed by would be worth it for a cuppa or some halfway decent coffee. He didn't even make it off the couch before the door to his flat flew open and his landlady made her way into the room carting a tray of tea.

"Here you go Dearie I've made you some tea, just this once mind you. I'm your landlady not your housekeeper. The boys are out right now, they thought you'd be more comfortable without them here. Well John did at least, Sherlock needed some convincing, but you'll have the flat to yourself for a while." Mrs. Hudson said as she invaded the front room carrying a silver tea tray.

She set the tray down on the coffee table and handed him a cup. She leaned down taking in his pale pallor and his shaking hands and patted him on the knee. "I know exactly how you feel, sometimes those boys forget themselves. It's never pleasant when you wake up after it happens, but some tea and soup and you'll be right as rain. No solid foods for a while and drink lots of liquids, you'll feel better if you do. It gets better after the first time, less aches and pains. You might feel the pins and needles for a while before it settles, but I've found it's better to relax a bit before you try to walk it off."

"I tried to escape." He said sounding like he wasn't entirely present as he stared blankly in front of him his hands shaking.

Mrs. Hudson patted him on the shoulder pushing a cup of tea into his hands. She sat herself down in the red chair taking a sip from the cup she prepared for herself. "I know, Mycroft told me, I don't blame you for trying to. Honestly that boy needs to learn that he can't threaten people all the time, but eventually he'll learn." She said with an assured nod of her head.

"I'm living in a haunted house." He said his chest heaving with hysterical laughter he couldn't suppress.

"It's not the whole place they prefer to stay in their flat. They're nice boys though a bit rough around the edges but who isn't." Mrs. Hudson said with an amused laugh. "You'll want to be wary around the kitchen you wouldn't believe the things I've found in my fridge. Gave me quite the fright I nearly jumped out of my skin. If you want my opinion you might want to scrub down in there just to be safe, and that reminds me. Do be sure that if you're around on Friday afternoons you're fully dressed. Sherlock's friend Molly shows up around then, she likes to visit and drop some things off for Sherlock to experiment on."

"Is she his girlfriend?" Greg asked looking at Mrs. Hudson with less fear and more curiosity than he had a moment ago.

"No but I think she would like to be. When that incident happened to the boys it nearly broke her heart, she cried when she found out that they were still with us. She's a sweet girl but honestly I don't think Sherlock ever swung that way. I'm certain that he was defiantly more interested in John, though John denies that there is anything there. Sherlock never does though and you should see the way they dance around each other." She said her voice shaking with laughter.

She looked at him her jovial look falling to reveal maternal concern. "They really are nice boys. They have a habit of keeping people on their toes and your life will never be boring with them in it, but they mean well. Mycroft can come off a bit strongly, but he really does care, he just has an odd way of showing it. You just need to get used to them and I'm sure you'll get along."

"Forgive me for my skepticism, but I'm almost positive that I'm not going to get along with them." Lestrade said glaring at the cup in his hand. "I was just threatened into staying here, I have two flatmates that are ghosts, the kitchen seems to be toxic, and if they want to stop me all they have to do is touch me. Just one touch and I'm out for the count. I don't think any of us will be getting along."

_Thank you's to everyone who read, followed, favorited, and/or reviewed._


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